Bad Nicknames
by Satan Abraham
Summary: Howard was on his way back from some illicit operations when he stumbled across Hunter Lefkowitz. And it was the most difficult thing in the world to give that kid a decent nickname. [oneshot] [rated t for language]


Howard Bassem was about ready to tell any kids that lived out of town that they were going to _have _to meet him in town, because he was sick and tired of trekking all over the damn FAYZ so that some kids could get their booze. Yeah, the 'Bertos were nice – fantastic, in fact, because he sure as hell wasn't about to go picking cabbages – but he didn't like being so far out of town in case something happened with Orc.

The kids at the house he'd made plans with hadn't even been there, so he'd turned back, muttering under his breath, until he tripped over a bag and went sprawling, backpack of bottles hitting the ground with a _really _bad _clink! _

He swore and picked himself up as best as he could, rubbed rocks out of his elbows, and met Hunter Lefkowitz's eyes.

Hunter was looking at him with a lot of surprise and more than a little fear. Howard turned to look at the bag he'd tripped over – birds. He'd tripped over Hunter doing his job.

Howard managed a half-grin. "Sorry man," he said. "You mind if I check on my bottles?"

Hunter shook his head, and Howard sat down on the ground. He'd sneered at the kids who prayed in the FAYZ practically since the beginning, but there was no harm in a quick prayer that the booze would be OK. He needed that to _sell, _it was the _good stuff,_ not some of the home-brewed shit he'd been testing on Orc.

One of them was broken, he noted sourly. He pulled out the glass, piling pieces big enough to keep around and eventually coming up with a jagged piece of glass still holding about a half of an inch.

"What's that?" Hunter asked almost shyly. Howard glanced at him – he looked confused, like he was thinking, like he knew what it was but didn't. Howard cracked a smirk.

"My living," he said. "But it's all shit now, busted up like this. I could carry this little bit back and sell it to whoever I come across first. Orc'll just get pissed if I give it to him…"

Howard trailed off, staring at the half of an inch of liquid. If he had a taste for alcohol, he'd just down it, but he'd tried almost every kind and didn't like that underlying taste that all of them seemed to have. Either way, it was better if a seller didn't dip into his stock. Orc's habits cut into profits enough as it was.

"So, what're you doing with those birds?" Howard asked, putting the glass aside. He'd probably end up dumping it out and keeping the glass, but for now, he wouldn't say no to some meat. Hunter flushed.

"Albert wants them," he said. He sent a sideways glance toward Howard.

"You know you don't have to do all this, right?" Howard asked. Hunter jumped and stared at him. "Well, my man Orc… the big guy killed someone. In the early days, and he ain't out here on his own. You should be takin' your business elsewhere, not handing it to one of the guys that sentenced you."

Howard paused.

"Well, guess I sort of sentenced you, too, being on the council. But I was against it," Howard said. He tapped his fingers against the glass and sighed. "But majority rules."

He paused again and noticed that Hunter was staring at him with wide eyes. He hadn't really realized that he'd still been talking. Usually someone interrupted or argued, or something popped up. But being out here with Hunter was pretty relaxing, actually.

"Are you hungry?" Hunter asked finally.

Howard opened his mouth, shut it, and grimaced. "Kind of obvious, ain't it?"

"I can cook one," Hunter said. "I can cook to feed myself. And you. You're with… you're with Albert?"

"You could say that," Howard said, and Hunter nodded. "So, you gonna do your microwave thing, or build a fire?"

Hunter gave him a shy smile. "It tastes better if I make a fire," he said.

Howard shrugged and leaned back, propping himself up by his hands and accidentally slicing into his hand with one of the stray glass shards. He swore and stuck his hand in his mouth, wincing at the taste of blood and vodka. Hunter looked at him, alarmed, halfway through making a fire. Howard waved him off and took his hand out of his mouth. Blood immediately welled to the surface and he swore again. He could deal with it, but that didn't mean it wasn't annoying.

Hunter had paused in making the fire and was currently pulling at his shirt. Howard watched him, a little wary, until Hunter tore off a piece of his shirt and stumbled over to Howard. He reached for Howard's hand and looked at him as if waiting for permission.

"Go for it, Hunter," Howard said. He sighed. "It's no fun giving you a nickname, you know? You wouldn't get it, for one, and two, what you do is _already _your name, which is, I guess, kind of funny in itself, and Mr. Microwave just kind of loses its worth since we've got no damn electricity. I mean, you get the shock value, and maybe some flinching if someone's shaken up, but I'm pretty sure half of the littles don't remember what a microwave _is_. So the older ones-"

"I'm Hunter," Hunter mumbled, wrapping the piece of his shirt around Howard's hand. It was a lot softer than the material washed in the sea, that was for sure, and Howard watched him as he wrapped it around his hand four times and tied it in a clumsy knot. "I'm the hunter."

Howard thought he was smiling – it was kind of a weird smile, honestly, but he couldn't really blame Hunter for that.

"Well, Hunter the Hunter," Howard said. "How about we speed up that cooking process?"

* * *

**I have nothing to say except Two Favorite Characters Interacting. That's literally the only reason I wrote this.**


End file.
